


the best time of our lives, right?

by samodiv



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awful Dialogues, M/M, Trans Male Character, Trans d'Artagnan, everything is awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 00:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7663225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samodiv/pseuds/samodiv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>d'Artagnan goes to yet another post-prom party thinking he doesn't know the host. Little does he know,</p>
            </blockquote>





	the best time of our lives, right?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work in this fandom and I would like to apologize in advance,
> 
> There's a lot of alcohol as well as hints of underage alcohol use(more like flashbacks but they're not bad? I think?), smoking too. Also d'Artagnan is a bit of a mess, have that in mind.
> 
> (This entire fic is loosely based on the various parties I attended around the time of my own prom, except the romance because seriously.)
> 
> Comments and kudos would be appreciated!

 d'Artagnan is honestly starting to get tired with all this partying. It doesn't come as much of a surprise, really - they're graduating, so obviously every other night someone would send a variation of "any1 up for drinks?" in the class' group chat and d'Art would suddenly be in a club or at someone's, everyone already three drinks and ten headaches in. He calls it pre-nostalgia; his class wasn't that tight before. Now they're going to split soon and not see each other for the better part of the following five years - it makes the whole group mysteriously get along. They've went out together in the past two months more times than in all of their school years altogether.  
 Still, prom was just two nights ago, and d'Artagnan suspects he isn't the only one still hungover, so he groans in desperation when he receives a phonecall from Constance, who is excitedly inviting him to a big thing the same evening at Olivier's place. Who that is, d'Art has little idea - one of the intense Maths people, he supposes, - but Constance gives him an address and an hour to get there, " _Or else!_ ". He shrugs and starts shuffling through his closet.  
 Two hours and an abnormal amount of alcohol later, d'Artagnan is yelling his lungs out to a cliché song about brotherhood and forever and fuck those against us, jumping off-rhythm with a bunch of guys he was not close with three months ago. One of pre-nostalgia's side effects: no one deliberately tries to exclude or avoid him, and everyone is way more open to him and his specifics. Of course, the majority of his classmates don't know his gender(he's never found these people important enough to inform them), but everyone has noticed he uses a different name and refers to himself with different pronouns than he used to, and a lot of them use those for him now. Most of those people do so with joke in their tone, but he doesn't mind. At least they're trying.  
 He finally spots the party's host when he gets too tired to dance and goes to sit down, doing two shots of tequila on the way after being directed to Olivier by someone whose name starts with G? Or D? d'Art isn't sure. Olivier is sat in a corner, sipping from a mug while scratching down in a notebook. d'Artagnan was right - one of the intense Maths guys. He vaguely recalls having a subtle crush on the boy, even texting him a few times and suggesting they get a beer sometime, but that was in ninth grade and d'Art had forgotten the whole deal.  
 "Mind if I sit?" he asks, hopefully loud enough to be heard. Olivier shrugs, eyes never leaving the pages in his lap. d'Art makes sure to put some space between himself and the guy, but he's still curious. "What've you got there?" Olivier looks up, confused; d'Art repeats his question, and the other hands the notebook over. The page is covered in sketches, the lines a mess but undeniably done by a skilled, albeit rushed hand. d'Art smiles, despite himself - Olivier is really good. He returns the notebook and gives its owner a thumbs up, then moves a bit closer. "Those are great! Didn't know you could draw." "What _did_ you know of me, eh?" d'Art smirks. So he doesn't remember those chats. Now that's a relief. "Got me. I'm d'Artagnan, by the way," he reaches out a hand. Olivier shakes it. "Athos, since we're going by last names. You're one of them IT kids, right?" d'Art nods, then laughs at the distaste on the other's face. "Why did you invite everyone if you dislike us?" "Aramis asked if he could throw a party in here, and I agreed, foolish as I get." "You two are friends?"  
 d'Art is surprised. Everyone knows Aramis, all sweet and God-abiding when teachers are around but the most mischievous otherwise; the guy seems to flirt with every living soul while still maintaining a relationship with an older guy _and_ an older girl (Porthos and Anne, if he remembers correctly. Constance loves filling him in on the latest gossip, but he rarely cares enough). Still, the possibility of Aramis and Athos getting along throws d'Art off. Athos seems too introverted, and Aramis isn't known to regard people's personal space.  
 "Known him for fifteen years, one would think I'd have learned how he gets by now. In short, I expected fewer, and am not pleased." "Sucks, man." "Well, we're supposed to party, right?" d'Artagnan gives him a sympathetic look. "Hey, can I smoke here?" Athos shrugs. "Everyone is." "I meant, do you mind?" That earns him a surprised smile. "There's a balcony back there, I was meaning to go anyways." They get up, d'Art almost reaches for his hand. What the fuck, man, he thinks to himself, tone the gay down.  
 "So what are your plans for when all this is over?" d'Art asks after he's lit a cigarette. It's not that chilly outside, but the wind makes him regret not taking his jacket with. Athos smirks. "Animation and computer game design." "Nice. Outside France or?" "England." d'Art nods. When no further comment is made, he tries to revive the conversation. "Those sketches were really good." Athos scoffs. "What?," d'Artagnan asks, confused. The other raises an eyebrow at him. "Do you want to go somewhere more private or are you really faking interest?" the artist offers, challenge in his voice. d'Art almost chokes. "Excuse me?" "Am I reading you wrong?" d'Artagnan looks away, takes a slow drag, hopes his voice doesn't give him away. "What do you mean?" "Sorry, then," the other offers quietly, turns on his heels and heads to get back inside while muttering something inaudible to himself. "No," d'Art all but yells. Athos stops walking but doesn't turn around. "Let me finish my cigarette and we can go?" Athos nods. d'Artagnan wants to smoke at least three more at once.  
 "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were-" he stops himself from talking because he also doesn't know just what Athos has heard about him and he doesn't want to out himself by accident. Athos finally turns around, smirks. "What?" d'Art doesn't want to out himself at all, if one is to ask him. "Nevermind. Actually, I need to smoke more, so." "Can you lend me one, in that case?" Their hands touch while d'Artagnan is giving him a cigarette. It's almost too much. He busies himself with lighting his cig, trying to compose a sentence for once instead of speaking first and overthinking second. "Sorry but, what the fuck?"  
 Athos starts laughing. This is so, so unfair. d'Artagnan glares at his shoe, angry at the entire world. "What is it that concerns you?" The artist asks, and d'Artagnan groans. "Look, I don't know what-" "Do you want to fuck me or not?" Athos cuts him off, sounding careless but not looking it one bit. Sweet Jesus. What has d'Artagnan ever done wrong in his life? He drops his cigarette and steps on it before rushing inside, motioning for the other to follow him. He has to slow down when he remembers he's never been in this house before. Athos gives him a questioning look, d'Art pulls him by the collar. " _I_ can't lead the way to _your_ bedroom, now can I?" he whispers. Athos grabs him by the wrist and starts dragging him away from the crowd and noise.  
 They enter a dark room and Athos reaches to turn the light on. Which can't happen. "Please don't?" "Okay." There's still light coming from the window, but d'Artagnan supposes that can't be helped. They silently stare at each other until both of them start giggling. It's not exactly awkward, d'Art simply isn't used to feeling this warm and comfortable, especially in someone's company. "So, um...?" "Come closer and shut up," Athos smirks.  
 He kisses like he has all the time in the world, but also like he wouldn't spend it doing anything else. His arms are incredibly careful, one barely touching d'Artagnan's face, the other lightly tugging his hair. d'Art breaks the kiss to smile(Athos is ridiculously good at kissing), "Wouldn't hate it if you went harsher, y'know." Athos immediately obliges, whispers back "Likewise." They soon stumble to the bed, d'Artagnan laying on top, which, um. "This might be a problem," he says to the artist, blushing. "Why?" d'Artagnan bites his lip, moves off the other and sits at the edge of the bed. "Are you even into guys?" he asks, his voice sharp. Athos sits up as well and gives him a confused look. "Thought that was obvious...?"   
 This is unbelievable, does he not remember him from before at all? The relief from earlier turns to something d'Art doesn't know how to name. Meanwhile, because Athos isn't a telepath and can't witness d'Artagnan's internal turmoil, he hasn't stopped talking. "...I mean, we're not exactly _close_ , and I thought it rude to message you about this, and I'm weird when it comes to verbal conversations, but you changed your facebook page and I figured... But if I'm wrong, I'd like to apologize." He looks sincere. d'Artagnan sighs, tries for grateful instead of embarrassed. "It's alright." "Then what's the problem?" d'Artagnan looks at Athos, eyebrows raised. "You still wanna...?" "Very much so, as long as you do too." "Fucking..." d'Art's swearing is muted because he is kissing the artist again, trying to pull his own shirt off simultaneously. Athos follows his example, then his mouth moves to d'Artagnan's neck as his hands carefully rest at the hem of the binder d'Artagnan still has on. "You can take it off, I'm- I'm fine," d'Artagnan manages to choke out(Athos is ridiculously good at kissing, times two). "You sure?" d'Artagnan nods too fast, too many times. Athos kisses every square inch of skin he frees from the fabric, looking up every few moments as if to ask for reassurance that the other is okay with everything, and it's so unbearably sweet d'Artagnan pulls him up to bite his lower lip, then his jawline, then up until his collarbone. Athos makes a soft noise at that, and the other bites the same place again, earning himself a more audible groan this time.  
 Two hours or so later, they're laying next to each other, Athos slowly dragging a finger down d'Artagnan's spine. "I should have agreed," he says out of nowhere. d'Artagnan turns to look at him. "What are you talking about?" "Back in ninth, you texted me something about beer?" "Oh," d'Artagnan giggles. "I thought you didn't remember." "I don't get asked out by cute guys all that often," the artist shrugs, a smug grin on his face. d'Artagnan throws a pillow at him. " _"You're one of them IT kids, right?"_ " he then mimics, his lips pursed. Athos groans. "I thought it would be weird if I went, _"Yeah so, I've been stalking your social media for three years,"_ " his voice is defensive, but he's also smiling. d'Artagnan shakes his head. "That would have probably worked too," he admits. Athos leans to kiss him, murmuring "What a nerd" under his breath. d'Artagnan mentally notes to himself that he really must thank Constance for dragging him to this party.


End file.
